Twenty One Years Later
by Leliha
Summary: How does Severus Snape cope with the role he has to play during DH? Is there anyone he can trust, anyone who helps him bear his fate? SSOFC, rated M just to be on the safe side for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is the result of an idea that came to my mind while reading Deathly Hallows and coming to grips with Snape's fate. I hope you'll like it. _

**21 Years Later**

**Chapter One: Hogwarts Express**

Platform 93/4 was as busy as usual on September 1st. Groups of excited students, proud and anxious parents, sulking younger siblings were moving through swirling clouds of steams, talking to each other, laughing, waving to each other, hugging each other; trunks, trolleys, cages and baskets with animals were littering the platform, getting in people's ways, making them stumble and bump into each other.

Ten minutes to go. The Potters were standing next to the last carriage, talking to Ron and Hermione Weasley. Their children had already boarded the train, even Lily and Hugo, the youngest, on their way to their much longed for start at Hogwarts, barely had eyes for their parents any more. Ginny and Hermione had started to discuss the imminent arrival of Fleur and Bill's first grandchild, Ron hoisted his son's heavy trunk onto the train. Harry let his eyes roam over the platform. As always the excitement at the Hogwarts Express made him feel nostalgic. More than twenty years ago he had travelled on this train with his friends, bound to a new school year, more knowledge of magic, more exciting Quidditch matches and new adventures; two decades, so much had happened in the meantime – and yet it seemed like yesterday.

Suddenly he gasped.

"Mum," he whispered involuntarily.

A few steps to his right a woman was standing. She was dressed in an elegant grey Muggle trouser suit and her hair, dark red with strands of grey, was tied in an elaborate bun. Harry didn't want to believe his eyes. This woman looked exactly like his mother – or rather, like his mother would have looked, if she had still been alive. She was talking to a young man, tall and thin, his black hair trimmed accurately and fashionably, who also seemed vaguely familiar. Suddenly the woman became aware of Harry's stare, said something to her companion and both of them looked back enquiringly. Harry blushed, suddenly aware of his blatant staring and embarrassed. Feeling compelled to apologize, he went over to her.

"Sorry, Madam, I didn't want to be rude, but – well, it may sound strange, but you remind me of somebody."

The woman blinked. She turned her head and studied the crowd on the platform, her hands opening and closing convulsively. After a long moment she met Harry's eye again.

"Somebody called Lily?"

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Y-yes, my mother, how do you know?"

"You're not the first one to spot the resemblance," she said sadly and looked at the young man, who put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

"I must go, Mum, the train's about to depart. Good-bye, see you at Christmas."

He gave a curt nod in Harry's direction.

"See you, David," she said and hugged him, "good luck and don't forget to write."

The whistle sounded.

"Harry!" That was Ginny's voice.

"Coming!" he answered and turned back to the woman. Something about her fascinated him and made him feel that there was a story attached to this extraordinary similarity in looks.

"Would you mind telling me more about it? Do you have a moment afterwards? Can we talk?"

"Well - yes, I suppose," she said carefully.

"What about the coffee shop outside platform 9?"

"Harry!"

He turned to his wife.

"Yes, Ginny."

And back to the woman.

"Will you come?"

She nodded.

The whistle sounded again and while the train started to move, Harry hurried over and joined his wife, waving good-bye to his children.

Fifteen minutes later he entered the coffee shop. Hermione and Ron having expressed their intention to do some shopping, with Ginny volunteering to come along as an adviser, it had been no problem for Harry to find an excuse for staying behind.

He scanned the premises and saw her at once, sitting at a table in the back of the room. Quickly he went over and introduced himself.

"I'm sorry about my behaviour, but your likeness to my mother is absolutely striking. I was totally baffled. I'm Harry Potter, by the way."

"I know," she answered, "you're still a celebrity. I'm Rose Henderson."

She had already bought a cup of coffee, so Harry went to the counter to get one for himself.

When he returned to the table, the woman looked at him with calm determination. Harry noticed that her eyes were different, not bright green like his mother's and his own, but a soft greenish brown.

"So you would like to hear my story? Very well. You're the first one I'm going to tell it to."

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for the inspriring characters_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: First Encounter**

It was an extremely wet and cold day in August. At five o'clock, Rose Henderson was carefully locking the church door, when all at once the constant drizzle became a torrential downpour, complete with thunder and lightning, and even though it was only a few yards from the porch to her car, she was soaked when she finally slammed the door behind her. Cursing, she wiped the rain from her face with her hands and pulled back her hair. Then she started the motor and switched on the lights and the windscreen wipers, which, however, were not very effective in this rain. Looking over her left shoulder, she reversed out of the car park. Suddenly a bump and a cry. Good heavens, had she hit something, someone? She had not seen another soul in the car park, where had they just appeared from? Who was out there in this weather?

Trembling with shock she jumped out of the car. A black figure, a person, totally drenched, on the ground next to the right rear wheel. As she approached, the figure tried to get up.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you! Are you injured, can I help?"

The figure – a man – shook his head without looking at her. Rose wiped the rain from her face. She, too, was wet to the skin now. The man was standing, holding on to the car, but there was something wrong with his leg. She could see that his trousers were torn and there was something red mingling with the water. So he was injured.

"I must help you, Sir. Let's go back into the church. I can have a look at your leg," she pleaded.

"No."

Desperately she touched his arm and for the first time he raised his head and looked at her. He gasped and his eyes grew wide.

"Lily!" he said hoarsely.

"No, sorry, I'm Rose," she corrected him with a confused smile.

"Lily," he repeated, staring at her, not heeding her reply.

"Let's get out of the rain," she insisted and this time he didn't contradict her.

Gently she put her arm around him and started walking him to the church. He didn't resist, gave the impression that his thoughts were miles or decades away.

Rose unlocked the door and they went inside. She seated him in one of the pews.

Their clothes were dripping, creating small pools on the stone floor.

"Now about your leg…"

Brushing her dripping hair back with her hand and sitting down next to him, Rose bent down and took hold of the leg, about to lift it onto the seat. This seemed to wake him. He fought off her hands brusquely.

"There's nothing you can do. It's just a scratch, I can easily heal it."

He put his hand inside his clothes and pulled out a slim wooden stick, pointed it at his leg and first the bleeding ceased, then the rip in his trousers mended itself.

Rose gasped, flabbergasted, and he looked at her with an ironic curling of his lip.

"I'm a wizard, I can do magic," he said and pointed his wand at her. Before she had time to recoil, her clothes were dry and he was about to repeat the action with his own attire.

"That's better, isn't it?"

Again the ironic smile.

Rose nodded, surreptitiously fingering her dry clothes. Magic. A wizard. A – wand? Was this a dream? She could hear the rain drumming on the church roof.

They looked at each other. He made a small movement with his wand and a light appeared at its tip, illuminating the dimly lit nave.

"Your eyes – they aren't green, are they?" he asked.

Rose stared at him. This was getting more and more surrealistic. But then she shook her head.

"They are a mixture of brown and green," she obliged.

He nodded, satisfied.

"All the same – you look like Lily," he muttered, "except the eyes."

"Who's Lily?" she demanded. But he didn't answer, just kept staring at her.

Rose started feeling uncomfortable. Was he a lunatic? Would he attack her? Even with his hair and clothes dry he didn't look very prepossessing. And he was much taller and stronger than she was, she would stand no chance in an attack. Her phone was in the car, nobody was expecting her at home. She was at his mercy. Nice situation she had got herself into! Why had she insisted on helping him? It was stupid, absolutely stupid. And why had she hit him in the first place? After all, she had glanced back before reversing.

""What were you doing in the car park? Why did I not see you?" she asked angrily.

Again the ironic smile.

"I just apparated when you reversed – appeared out of thin air," he explained when she kept looking at him without comprehension.

"Oh."

'Appeared out of thin air' indeed! He _was_ a lunatic. Totally mad. She had to get rid of him. But how?

He got up and she followed suit, not wanting him to tower over her so much.

"You are going to forget this encounter," he said and raised his wand.

"What?" she cried, taking a fearful step back. He raised his wand.

"Obliviate."

She felt the onset of a strange, extremely pleasant sensation of peace and calm…

_Bang! _A flash of lightning followed by a bolt of thunder made her jump and the sensation was gone. So was the man. She looked around - no one there. But there had been… She had a dim recollection of a man dressed in black. She concentrated hard. Yes, a man who had claimed being a wizard and who had acted very strangely. The memory became clearer, but he was gone. Rose, you are going nuts, she told herself. Her eyes fell on the floor. There were the pools of water from their clothes. So she had been outside, she had been dripping wet and therefore the man must have been there as well. She shook her head vigorously, not sure if it was preferable to believe in the existence of wizards or to assume that something was wrong with her mind - and with a deep, angry sigh she left the church.

oooOOOooo

"He had long black hair, a hooked nose and a pale face?" Harry Potter enquired eagerly, leaning across the table, closer to the woman opposite.

"Yes, that's right," she agreed with a wry smile.

"Snape!"

Rose Henderson shrugged.

"The hex didn't work? You remember everything?"

She nodded.

"It must have been the energy of the lightning interfering with the magic," Harry said thoughtfully. "Anyway, you've never met him again, I presume."

"Oh, but I have," she replied with a soft laugh.

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for creating these inspiring characters. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you very much for the positive feedback. At first it looked as if nobody was really interested in the story and I already thought about abandoning it. But then your reviews turned up in my mailbox and made me change my mind and go on. So here is the next chapter. _

**Chapter Three: Memories Intact**

Rose couldn't get the mysterious 'wizard' out of her head. The fact that she had to go back to the church for work every weekday only made her brood more about the strange meeting.

For fear of being laughed at she had not dared tell anybody about the incident. The whole affair made her nervous and short-tempered, often she found it hard to concentrate on her work, caught herself looking over her shoulder as if expecting the strange man sneaking up behind her.

So when she arrived at the church on a bright Thursday morning one week later and found the door unlocked, she was overcome with a sense of apprehension. The door not securely locked at eight o'clock in the morning was unusual, because as her restoration task was supposed to be completed before the onset of winter she was working long hours now and always was the first to come in the morning and the last to go at night. That was the reason why she had been provided with a key in the first place. The volunteers – women mostly – who were present during opening hours, taking care that visitors behaved properly and answering the occasional questions, didn't arrive before ten.

Wondering who had entered the church so early today, she opened the door cautiously and tiptoed inside, trying to get her eyes accustomed to the gloom, which was so different from the brilliant early morning sunlight outside.

She looked around and thought she could discern a shadow in one of the pews at the very back of the church. She went closer, carefully and very quietly - and froze when she found her suspicion confirmed. Someone was sitting there, hunched like in prayer. Rose was unsure of what to do. It didn't seem right to disturb someone's prayer; on the other hand, the church normally was locked at this hour and people shouldn't be here. There could also be something wrong with this person – a stroke, a heart attack. She decided to speak to them.

"Hello," she said tentatively. The person didn't stir.

"Hello!" Louder this time - and causing a reaction. The praying figure stirred, lifted his head stiffly – and Rose nearly dropped her beag in surprise: She was looking into the blotched, careworn face of her 'wizard'.

"You!" she whispered, while at the same time realizing that she had never before seen a face so full of anguish and misery.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Had he been asleep? There was a vivid red mark on his forehead where it had been in contact with the back of the pew in front of him.

Then he recognized her, too, and his expression became rigid. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Finally he cleared his throat.

"You remember me?" he said incredulously.

Rose nodded and took a step closer to him. His right hand reached into his clothes.

"No!" she cried. "Leave this - wand thing of yours where it is. I remember you, and you gave me a week of hell, because I couldn't be sure if you were real or just a part of my imagination run wild. I sometimes thought I was going mad. But you are real, aren't you?"

A lopsided smile.

"I think so."

"Fine, this is a relief indeed."

He didn't answer, just kept looking at her, his face unreadable.

"What are you doing here, by the way? The church is supposed to be locked at night and I'm sure I locked it yesterday. How did you get in?"

"Locks are no obstacles for me," he stated calmly. "I often come here at night."

He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly and grimaced.

"Fortunately I've never fallen asleep before."

"So wizards can undo locks without a key?" she asked with an ironic undertone.

He simply nodded.

She studied him doubtfully. Perhaps he was just a very skilful and clever burglar? But there were no portable treasures in the church. You couldn't carry away stone masonry or murals. Parts of the altarpiece perhaps? She cast a quick look over her shoulder to see if everything was still there. Satisfied she sat down next to him.

"Why do you come here?"

The church was famous for its Norman architecture, very popular with tourists, but he didn't convey the impression of being interested in the history of art. He studied his hands that lay folded in his lap for a long time before looking up and meeting her eyes again and answering her.

"To find some peace, to escape from the problems haunting me; I find the atmosphere soothing."

With a deep sigh he buried his face in his hands.

"Oh Merlin, you look so much like her!"

Rose studied the back of his head for a while, totally at a loss of what to do. She let her eyes wander through the nave, following the columns up into the groin vaulting of the ceiling. Soothing atmosphere? Yes, now that she thought about it, she believed she could feel it, too. The symmetry of the proportions, the dim light filtered by the stained-glass windows... Usually she wasn't much into atmosphere, her interest in churches was a purely professional one.

A shuddering sigh roused her from her musings.

He had sat up again and was massaging his temples. She decided to try some amateur psychology.

"Would you like to talk about your problems?" she said tentatively.

He snorted and added a harsh laugh for good measure.

"No, Madam, certainly not."

Rose took a deep breath.

"OK." She couldn't help sounding hurt and this made him add some explanation.

"The knowledge would be dangerous for you. And you wouldn't understand it anyway," he added with an apologizing shrug. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Oh, right then, I should be starting with my work, actually."

She rose.

"You work here?"

"Yes, they discovered some murals in the crypt and I'm restoring them. Therefore I'm going to be here every day from eight to seven except weekends for the next few weeks. So if you care to come back at daytime…"

She smiled sheepishly. He didn't answer it, just kept gazing a her, his expression inscrutable.

"You'd really better forget about me…" he said almost inaudibly and his hand went into his clothes again.

"I don't want to forget you," she answered with a determined stare. Was it pity, curiosity, the wish to have a bit of excitement in her uneventful life? She didn't know. But this man and his mysterious troubles, his claim of being a wizard intrigued her, made her want to learn more, to solve this riddle.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. Finally he shrugged as if he wanted to say 'what does it matter' and got up. He raised his hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her, but then he let it fall to his side again and brushed past her brusquely.

"I must go. Good-bye."

And with a few long strides he was gone.

"Good-bye," Rose replied, retrieved her bag and went to her workplace in the crypt.

oooOOOooo

"He really didn't obliviate you?" exclaimed Harry Potter, his face a picture of disbelief.

Rose nodded and took another sip from her coffee cup.

"He must have been very much distraught or still overwhelmed by your likeness to my mother," Harry mused.

"Lily," she said softly, her eyes vacant, her thoughts far away. Then, after some minutes, her gaze was on Harry again. "I think it was both."

"Did he come back?"

She smiled mischievously.

"What do you think?"

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these fascinating characters._


	4. Chapter 4

_Wow! So many reviews for the last chapter! Thank you very much indeed._

_(To whitehound: The story takes place during the year of DH.)_

**Chapter Four: A Cold and Comfort**

Rose wasn't sure what she had hoped for or expected, but in the following days the church door was correctly looked when she arrived in the morning, no one was sitting in the shadows of the columns. She also didn't know if she really wanted to see him again or if it would be better for her peace of mind to forget about the whole affair.

While working on the murals in the crypt she sometimes had the strange feeling of being watched, but when she looked around to investigate, squinting against the strong lights illuminating her workplace, the room was empty. It was creepy, unsettling, alarming, disturbing her concentration. Was it just her vivid imagination or could wizards become invisible?

Although she did her best to go on with her life, working, shopping, household chores, meeting friends at the pub – part of her mind remained occupied with the 'wizard' all the time. She did some research about wizards and magic, found plenty of references to the burning of witches from the Middle Ages to Early Modern Times, read about Salem and the Puritans, found 'magicians' offering their services for birthday parties on the Internet, together with advertisements for New Age gurus and their magic products, and, of course, hundreds of music offers, ranging from Mozart's 'Magic Flute' to compilations like 'The Magic of the Celtic Harp' or 'Magic Voices of Bulgaria'; there was, however, nothing that would help her understand the nature of her 'wizard' or provide information about the existence of a world of magic in general.

One day about two weeks later she was working on a very intricate and challenging part of the painting when once again she had the feeling of someone else being there and watching her. Nonsense! She told herself, resisted the urge to turn round and stoically continued reviving the damaged face of an early Christian martyr. Suddenly a violent sneeze made her jump, her brush slipped and splashed a spot of red paint in a place where it didn't belong.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake! Fucking shit!" she shouted and turned round furiously.

"Now I have to do the whole damn thing again! What are you doing here, startling me like this? Have you got any idea of how much time it takes to…"

She had got up and was stepping past the lamp.

"Oh – it's you." The surprise rendering her speechless, her tirade stopped.

He was leaning against a column, blowing his nose with a large white handkerchief.

"I apologize," he murmured, looking extremely uncomfortable and downright guilty, and sounding as if….

"Are you ill? Have you got a cold?" she asked. Even in the dim light she could see that his nose and his eyes were red.

He nodded.

"You should do something about it."

He shrugged.

"Have you been here for a while already?" she demanded, wanting to find out the truth about her strange impression of being watched.

He nodded.

"And have you been here before?"

Again he nodded, reluctantly, as if against his will.

"I see. I felt your presence, but I couldn't see anybody. Can you become invisible?"

He took a deep breath.

"In a way, yes," he admitted, and with a sniff and a rueful grimace added, "I couldn't keep it up because of the sneeze."

"Why do you come? And why do you try to keep it secret?"

"I want to see you, I don't want to disturb you."

"See me?" She paused, watching him intensely. "You mean, you want to see her – Lily?"

"Yes – no – I…" He shrugged in a helpless, embarrassed way, closed his eyes – and exploded in another sneeze.

Again he blew his nose. His eyes were watering. Was it real tears or just the cold?

With a final sniff he shook his head.

"I want to see you – Rose," he said softly.

"But you didn't want me know you were there. Am I just a part of the soothing atmosphere?" she couldn't resist asking, giving vent to her anger.

He gave her a hard look. Then the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Sarcasm is supposed to be my area of expertise."

She smiled against her will and took a hurried step backwards when another sneezing fit overcame him.

"You really should do something about it... So - why did you want to see me?"

He shrugged. "I wanted a break from dissimulation."

"A break from dissimulation?" she repeated, nonplussed.

She tried to meet his eyes, but he kept staring at a point above her right shoulder.

"Dissimulation, play-acting, assuming a role…"

"I understand what dissimulation is, " she interrupted his list of synonyms impatiently, "but…"

"Loneliness," he whispered, his eyes still fixed on the same spot. "It means absolute loneliness. There's no one alive for me to confide in. Those, whose side I must pretend to be on I despise and those whose side I'm really on I must make despise me, consider me a traitor and murderer."

She was studying him, trying to follow his explanation, taking in his pale, gaunt face, sensing his despair.

"Sounds like a no-win situation," she said softly.

He looked at her.

"But I have to – win. I promised it, I swore it," he whispered desperately and she saw that he was trembling with tension.

"You could confide in me, you know," she said.

"No!" He made a violent gesture with his hands as if to fend her help off, his face hard and full of anguish.

Stunned by the glimpse into the abysses of his despair she could do nothing but stare at him. None of them spoke, none of them moved. Their breathing was reverberating in the vaulting of the silent crypt. And all at once she decided that desperate measures were needed here. She went up to him.

"Come here," she said softly and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened in surprise and for a long moment she thought he would fight her off, but then he relaxed and she could feel his arms at her back, holding on to her as if he was drowning.

They remained standing like this for what seemed a very long time, while Rose grew familiar with the texture of his clothes, with his smell, with the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was him who finally straightened and gently wound out of her embrace.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She offered him a shy smile, breathing hard, still confused by what she had done.

"You're welcome."

He attempted to answer her smile and nodded.

"I must go now – do something against my cold."

"Yes, right."

She cleared her throat.

"Your coat is dirty, I'm afraid it may be paint. I'm sorry."

Looking down he tried to brush it off with his hands, but to no avail.

"Never mind."

He hesitated. They were looking at each other, not being able to think of anything to say.

Suddenly something occurred to her.

"I don't know your name."

"Sorry?"

"You've never told me your name. I mean – after all - it would be nice, if - …"

"Severus Snape."

"Severus," she repeated thoughtfully.

He nodded curtly. "Good-bye."

"See you," she replied with a small smile.

oooOOOooo

Rose was staring a the table in front of her, her forefinger absent-mindedly following the wavy grain of the fake wooden top. The man opposite her had his elbows on the table, his face resting in his hands.

"It is incredible," he finally said.

The woman looked at him enquiringly.

"How he managed to live with this horrible situation, how he succeeded in fulfilling his vows. He was right, everyone on the good side despised him, we even called him a coward… We would never have thought…Nobody looked beyond his disguise, nobody bothered to. When we finally learned it was too late…

He reached across the table and took Rose's hand.

"I'm glad to hear that he found someone who could help him."

She answered with a small shrug.

"So he came to you regularly?"

"Yes, from then on he did. And he was his visible self. He didn't stay long, half an hour, maybe a bit more. He didn't tell me much about himself though. I explained something about my work to him, we talked about very ordinary things. But it seemed to help him, to ease his tension."

"And you never questioned his story again, you just accepted him being a wizard?"

She grimaced wryly and sighed.

"Well – I accepted him as a very interesting man. I still can't explain it, but think I was fascinated by him, by his personality. He often seemed so vulnerable, so sad, then at times he could be downright nasty, but there was always this underlying aura of honour, of stubborn strength, of enormous willpower… He certainly was different from any man I had met so far – but, no, as a matter of fact, I'm afraid I can't give you any plausible reasons for my reacting as I did."

She shrugged apologetically.

"Did you always meet in the church?"

"For as long as I worked there, yes. A few days before the mural was completed, he arrived in a state even worse than before, totally devastated. Once again I tried to persuade him to confide in me, once again he refused and then, out of the blue, something unexpected happened…"

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these fascinating characters._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: We Kissed. And it Feels Like we Have Just Shrugged off the World.**

It was Friday evening and Rose had just decided to call it a day and was tidying up her workplace, cleaning brushes, putting tins of paint into a large wooden box. Stepping back she studied the mural, 'her' mural, it was nearly finished now, perhaps two or three days to add some final touches. She heaved a deep sigh. She should be happy now, filled with pride in her good workmanship, should feel exhilaration about completing a complicated project and enjoy the pleasant anticipation of a two weeks' holiday waiting for her. But what she actually felt was melancholy. This was the most demanding job she had done so far, she had spent so much time and thought on this piece of art, parting with it was almost like parting with a beloved child. She even felt tears prickling her eyes.

A soft rustling sound made her blink and turn round.

"Severus!" she said. It had been almost two weeks since his last visit and she had started to miss him. But that didn't mean that she approved of his way of noiselessly sneaking up on her. He was leaning against his favourite column now, there were raindrops glittering in his hair and on the shoulders of his cloak.

She faced him angrily, wanting to tell him off, but a closer look at him stopped her short. His whole body spoke of utter exhaustion and weariness. There were dark circles under his eyes, the lines in his face seemed deeper than before, he was deathly pale.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. He looked as if he was on the brink of collapse.

"Why don't you sit down?"

She took his arm and, contrary to her expectations, he didn't resist her, allowed her to guide him to the folding chair she used while working.

He sat down heavily, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

"Severus, let me help you. Tell me what is troubling you."

He raised his head, but still did not look at her, his eyes were vacant, his thoughts far away,

his right hand holding his left forearm in such a fierce grip that his knuckles were white.

Rose stepped in front of the chair and sat down on her heels in order to get into his line of vision.

"Severus, for heaven's sake, you look like hell, don't be so stubborn, talk to me, let me help you."

Slowly his eyes focused on hers.

"It's nothing out of the ordinary. Just – a bad day."

He shrugged and grimaced.

Rose let out a deep breath of exasperation and furiously punched his thighs with both her hands.

"Ouch!"

He caught her arms and held them securely, but was careful not to hurt her.

"You are impossible," she shouted, struggling to break free from his grip.

"I know," he retorted calmly, making no move to release her.

They were staring at each other, Rose fuming with anger, her eyes blazing with angry accusation and rejected concern, his calm and with a hint of amusement. Strangely enough their argument seemed to have revived his spirits. There was some colour in his cheeks and he was sitting up straight now.

It was him who finally ended the silent battle.

"You didn't look too happy either when I came in," he remarked softly.

"Don't try to change the subject!"

"Actually I don't, it's just a change of perspective."

"Honestly, Severus, you are…

"Impossible, I know. But what is it that troubles you?"

His thumbs were gently stroking the insides of her wrists, gradually softening her up, making her anger evaporate.

She laughed self-consciously.

"It's nothing really. Just some melancholy feelings at the end of a project."

"I see. So you have finished here."

"Still two or three days to go."

"I see."

Again they looked at each other. Rose felt her legs go numb from sitting on them, but she couldn't bring herself to change her position. She could discern a strange glint in his eyes now. It made her wonder what he was thinking, however, she would never have guessed what was coming.

Suddenly he leaned forward and kissed her. A quick, tender meeting of their lips. It sent a powerful jolt of emotion through her body.

Then he jerked his head back, his face showing – what? shock, remorse, embarrassment, confusion?

"I'm sorry," he whispered and hastily got up, nearly unbalancing her.

"Forgive me. Good-bye," he said and was already on the stairs, when she finally woke from her stupor and regained some control over herself.

"Severus, wait," she cried, struggling to get up, cursing the pins and needles in her feet.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for."

He had stopped at the top of the stairs, as if frozen in mid-movement, was standing with his back to her. Painfully she limped up to him and touched his arm. This made him turn and look at her.

His face was slightly flushed, his brow furrowed in quizzical wonder. He took her hand.

"You mean – you don't mind?"

Smiling, she shook here head.

"You're not disgusted? Didn't find it repulsive ?"

« No, Severus." The corners of her mouth twitched. "Actually, it was pleasant. Can we do it again?"

He was unable to hide his emotion. It was showing on his face and in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He drew her close and after a moment's hesitation kissed her again. Longer this time, with more confidence, tenderly and passionately at the same time.

When they had to pause for breath, she stepped back, sighed and studied him through narrowed eyes.

"Was Rose you have just been kissing – or Lily."

His face fell, became deathly white.

"What – what do you take me for?" he spat out violently.

She uttered an embarrassed little mirthless laugh.

"Well, I sometimes can't help thinking…"

"Stop it," he shouted angrily, then with an effort forced himself to become calm, holding her at arm's length, his eyes boring into hers.

"Listen, I can't deny that your resemblance to her played a role at the beginning, but now, I only see you. It's the truth, please believe me."

She nodded weakly, avoiding his eyes, wishing she had never pronounced the accusing question.

"Look at me," he said. She complied.

"My miserable existence is based on deception day in, day out. You are the only living person in the world I don't have to lie to, with you I can be honest, so believe me, I will never lie to you, I will never deceive you. Do you understand that?"

There was a desperate insistence in his voice.

"Yes, Severus, I do," she answered calmly.

He nodded gravely. And kissed her again.

oooOOOooo

"Would you like another coffee?" Harry Potter asked, getting up from his seat in a hasty attempt to cover up his emotion.

Rose smiled at him.

"Yes, please. Decaf."

She was leaning back in her chair, massaging her temples, while Harry went over to the counter.

When he returned he had recovered his composure.

"What happened when you didn't work in the church any longer?"

Rose picked up her spoon and stirred her coffee.

"He phoned me and we arranged our meetings. Usually it was on short notice, whenever he could take some time off his duties. We went to all sorts of places, parks, museums, the cathedral. Never for long, he always seemed to be on call somehow. It was not as convenient as the crypt, but he wouldn't come to my flat. Said it was dangerous for me if somebody found out and didn't want to listen to reason."

"A strange relationship. It can't have been satisfying for you. I wonder why you kept it up."

"I liked him."

Harry looked doubtful.

Rose laughed.

"Oh, don't look at me like this. As a matter of fact, I have been attracted to weak and vulnerable specimens of the male population all my life. My first boyfriend had a problem with drugs, another one was left physically handicapped after an accident with his motorbike, a third one was suffering from bouts of depression. Severus fitted perfectly into this list of troubled souls, although he never told me what exactly his troubles were. Affection is something you can't explain rationally. I really liked him. Apart from his fascinating personality he was intelligent, learned, witty – believe it or not, it was fun being with him, talking to him."

Harry smiled incredulously, Rose looking defiant now. Then she cocked her head to one side and challenged him with a quizzical stare.

"What about your mother? From all I know she must have liked him as well?"

The young man answered with an impatient little sigh, meeting her gaze with defiance, too.

"She died when I was a baby, I only know Snape's memories. Both of them were very young, children even, when they first met, the situation was a different one. I think he was deeply in love with her, but as to her feelings – I can't tell. She turned away from him after – after a nasty incident and married my father. Maybe she retained some affection for Snape, but I don't know for sure. I don't know if they ever kissed, whereas you…"

He broke off, colouring slightly at the intimacy of the topic.

Rose laughed in an attempt to ease the awkwardness between them.

"I liked his kisses."

He swallowed, hesitated, his interior debate clearly showing on his face – but then curiosity got the better of him.

"Did you ever…?"

Rose looked at him expectantly.

"I mean, was there more…?"

Another laugh.

"Oh! Well…"

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these inspiring characters_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five: The Heart Has Its Reasons Which Reason Knows Not Of.**

The phone was ringing in the hall. Shouting a curse her mother would have strongly disapproved of Rose tossed the floor cloth into the bucket and went to answer it.

"Severus speaking. Can we meet in half an hour?"

Rose replied with a mixture between a deep, frustrated breath and a sob.

"Oh, Severus, I can't leave the flat now. The washing-machine – it has flooded the kitchen. There's water all over the floor. I must mop it up and I don't know – o shit!"

She was almost crying with frustration. There was a long silence at the other end of the line.

Then, "Where do you live?"

"34, West Road in Witley – but I - you…"

"I'll be there in a minute."

"But, Severus, no…"

He had hung up. Rose stared at the receiver. A feeling of wetness at her bare feet called her out of her musings. A small rivulet of water was meandering out of the kitchen door.

"Oh no! Shit! Shit! Shit" she shouted at the top of her voice and was about to fetch the bucket when the doorbell rang. Severus! Why would he want to come to her flat now of all possible moments, after adamantly refusing to do so time and again? Today she wasn't in the mood for visitors, the flat was in chaos and he didn't look as if he knew enough about washing machines to be able to help her. Scowling she pressed the buzzer for the front door, opened the door to her flat and waited for him, listening to his quick footsteps on the stairs.

The door swung open and there he was in his usual formal black attire. At once she became uncomfortably aware of the fact that her own apparel wasn't suited for public appearance at all, consisting of nothing but an oversized, discoloured old t-shirt displaying the faded picture of a large, tartan-clad teddy-bear on its front, that she wore no make-up and that her hair was pulled back haphazardly in a hasty pony-tail. In an attempt to mask her embarrassment she pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I have to mop this up," she announced curtly in place of a greeting, pointing at the puddle in the hall, and disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the bucket. When she returned she stopped dead and stared at him open-mouthed.

He had got rid off his cloak and his coat and had the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. His feet were bare as well, the legs of his trousers rolled up to his knees.

He smiled at her blatant astonishment.

"I've come to help. Let me have a look," he said and brushed past her into the kitchen. She followed him and, leaning against the door frame, watched him take in the situation.

"Right," he finally said, "let's get rid of the water first. Give me the bucket, please."

He took it and put it in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Stand here, next to me," he commanded and took out his wand, pointed it at the flooded tiles and said, "Exsicca."

With a soft _swoosh_ the water gathered and splashed into the bucket. When it was full, he made its contents disappear with another spell. Then he repeated the process. In less than five minutes the floor was dry.

"Wow," Rose breathed and shook her head in disbelief.

"That was magic, wasn't it?"

He raised a mocking eyebrow.

"Obviously."

"Amazing, absolutely amazing!"

A hopeful idea started to form in Rose's mind.

"Do you think… I mean, I don't want to take advantage of your helpfulness, but it would be really kind of you if you could have a look at the washing machine. The washing's inside, all wet, and I can't get the door open."

She pleaded with an anxious smile.

Again he raised his amused eyebrow, shrugged and went over to the washing machine. Once again he waved his wand, muttered something and the door sprang open. Sitting down on his heels, he peered inside, using his wand as a torch.

"Ah, yes…" he finally said with an undertone of success and muttered something as an accompaniment to another wand movement.

"That should have done the trick."

He got up.

"Switch it on so that we can see if it works."

Rose frowned doubtfully and pressed the buttons, half expecting flashing lights and shrill, beeping sounds. But there was nothing of that kind. The machine started its cycle as if nothing had happened.

Rose let out a deep breath of relief.

"This is unbelievable, great, wonderful, absolutely amazing. Is that how magic works? Can you really do anything with magic?"

He laughed.

"No, not anything. Fortunately in this case the problem was just a hole in the sealing ring which could easily be repaired with magic; however, I can't influence anything connected with electronics."

"I see. Anyway, " she started a little joyful dance, "I'm so glad you could help me. Without you I would still be mopping up that floor and then try to find the number of the repair service…"

She beamed at him.

He watched her and laughed. Her happiness and relief were contagious.

"Come here," he said and wrapped her in his arms.

Rose snuggled up to him, enjoying his warmth, his smell…. Suddenly she realized that this was the first time she could actually feel the warmth of his skin. This was the first time there weren't layers of thick black cloth under her touch, just the thin fabric of his shirt. Something woke inside her, something stirred and made her breathe harder. He swallowed hard, seemed to have similar sensations. She felt her cheeks become hot, raised her head and looked at him surreptitiously. There was a glint in his eyes that had not been there before. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he seemed to decide against it and only shook his head with a small movement of hopelessness .

"Severus?"

"Yes…?"

She put her arms around his neck, pulled his face down and kissed him and he responded, his lips eager, hot, passionate – they had never kissed like this before.

He wrapped her in his arms again, held her very tight, buried his face in her hair.

"Rose," he whispered, "would you – could you imagine – oh, sweet Merlin! No, I can't…"

He ended with moan.

Rose held her breath. She knew what he wanted, felt it with every fibre of her body, wanted it as well, wanted it desperately. One of them had to take the lead, to say the words, otherwise they would be standing here forever. Her feet were getting cold, although the rest of her body was burning with a blazing heat.

"Severus, I would like to sleep with you."

"Would you like to sleep with me?"

There. They had said it simultaneously. They stared at each other, relief in their eyes.

"Come," she said, took his hand and led him to her bedroom. They undressed quickly and unceremoniously and lay down on the bed. He swallowed, avoided her eyes.

"I must tell you I haven't had much practice recently."

Rose chuckled and lifted her head to kiss him.

"Just follow your instincts," she whispered, moving closer to him.

He turned towards her, letting his eyes roam over her body.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, exploring the shape of her shoulders and breasts with a trembling hand.

"You're way too thin," she answered, caressing his chest and his flat stomach.

"Don't underestimate my strength," he retorted, catching her wrists and pinning them down next to her head. He started covering her with kisses, his lips and tongue caressing her skin, playing with her nipples, making her groan with pleasure. Rose watched his face. It looked contented, happy and relaxed, she had never seen him like this, truly happy.

She wrenched her hands free, reached out to explore his body; their movements became faster, their breathing harder, passion had taken over, was controlling their thoughts, their movements, their desires, made them climb higher and higher up the mountain of lust and longing until the final climax of relief…

They were lying next to each other, satisfied, spent, exhausted.

Rose ran her hand along his left arm, finally asking the question she'd had in mind since his arrival, since her first glimpse of his exposed arm.

"What on earth is this? It doesn't look right on you, it's horrible."

Her fingers were tracing the tattoo on his left forearm shyly.

"Don't touch it!" he snapped and brushed her hand away, his face drawn in a painful grimace. There was a long silence before he finally met her eyes.

"You are right, it's horrible. And it's a constant reminder of the worst mistake I've ever made and the cause of all my troubles," he explained, his voice calm now. "Rose, I don't want to think about it while I am with you. You alone have the power to make me forget it."

For an answer she turned towards him and started kissing him again…

It was early morning when Rose woke. She needed only a second to remember what had happened and whose arm was resting on her shoulder. Carefully she turned and looked at him. He looked so peaceful in the early morning light, lying on his stomach, his limbs and features relaxed and at ease. She smiled at the sight of him, a smile full of love, remembering the night, the pleasures they had experienced…

He stirred as if in response to her gaze and opened his eyes, focused on her face, frowned and sat up at once.

"I must go!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Severus, it's the weekend."

"I know, but I can't stay, I have duties, I can't stay away from the school…"

"The school?"

He shook his head impatiently, making it clear that he wouldn't answer any questions and started dressing hurriedly. When he had finished he looked at her, perceiving her disappointment.

He sat down on the bed and put his arms around her.

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I would rather stay here with you, but I can't. As a matter of fact, I should not have stayed the night at all…"

"Will you come back?"

He heaved a deep sigh, sat back and studied her face. Then he raised his hands and touched her cheek with his fingers, softly, gently. Rose caught his hand and pressed her cheek against his palm.

Another sigh and a desperate whisper.

"Merlin! What am I doing? There is no future for us."

Turning away he buried his face in his hands.

"I don't mind," Rose said softly, "I'm perfectly happy with the here and now so long as we continue to meet."

After some moments he looked up again, his eyes troubled, but also fiercely and defiantly determined.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, "I'll see you soon."

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these fascinating characters_


	7. Chapter 7

Dear readers,

I'm sorry that you had to wait so long for the final update, but sometimes real life interferes with story-writing. I also had problems deciding on the further development of the action and on a suitable ending. After much deliberation, writing, erasing and re-writing, I opted for creating two different endings for this story. The first one is in the following chapter, cannon-compliant and rather sad. If you prefer a happier ending, skip chapter six and go to chapter seven directly. And now – enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Six: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost Than Never to Have Loved at all.**

"And so we became lovers," Rose said. "Sometimes he came to my flat right away, sometimes we met somewhere else and went there afterwards. He rarely spent the night, though. Several times he had to leave abruptly, saying that he was 'summoned'.

"And he never told you more about himself?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, he never did. He wanted to forget, that was what he came for. And I never asked.

I can see that this is hard to understand, but we were happy, creating a world of our own, an…"

She stopped, thought for a moment, then continued with a wry smile, "an enchanted island of refuge in the rough sea of everyday life."

Again she paused, lost in memories, longing in her eyes.

"Then I discovered I was pregnant…"

Harry's eyes grew wide with surprise.

"You mean…?"

"David is Severus' son," Rose said calmly and Harry suddenly realized why the young man had seemed familiar: Snape's son! Sweet Merlin!

"Did he know? Snape, I mean?"

"Yes, I told him on his last visit before…"

"How did he react?"

She grimaced.

"Oh, he was shocked, absolutely shocked, just kept staring at me for several endless minutes. Then he became furious, furious with himself, furious with me, accusing me of having lied to him about being on the pill, which wasn't true, by the way. He was pacing the room, cursing and shouting, wouldn't listen to me; there was no way of calming him down. I could only wait for his anger to abate eventually, leaving him numb and exhausted, finally giving me the chance to put my arms around him and tell him that, although I had no idea of how it could have happened, I was looking forward to having his child. He didn't respond, only gave me one of his long, hard stares; when he had to leave, however, there was an air of fierce determination about him."

She shrugged wearily.

"It was the last time I saw him."

She was staring straight ahead at a point somewhere above Harry's shoulder, her eyes were blank, the muscles of her jaw tight.

"He was killed during the war."

Rose inclined her head.

"Yes, now I know. At first, when he didn't return and when I never heard of him again, I could only suspect as much. I had David and life became, well, busy, there is not much time for musings and reminiscences if you are a single mother. David had inherited his father's looks, the same black hair, pale skin and thin frame – there were times when I was overcome with grief by looking at him. He was a bright and active boy, advanced for his age. But he didn't get along well with other children, he was, well, different and they noticed it instinctively. They teased him, laughed at him and when he reacted strange things happened. When he started school, the real trouble began. I was summoned to the head teacher's office time and again, had to listen to their complaints and criticism, always promising better control, promising to make him see a therapist, trying to find excuses for my son's behaviour, usually giving the absence of a father as a reason. Of course I guessed that the real reason was his father being a wizard, but I couldn't tell that to the teachers, could I?"

Rose sighed at the memory.

"And then, when David was eleven years old, came the day that changed everything…"

oooOOOooo

Rose and David were on their way to the local comprehensive. It wasn't a good school, its GCSE results always in the bottom part of the ranking lists, but it was the only secondary school in the area willing to take on the boy described as anti-social, inattentive, disruptive and unable to concentrate. It was the only option left. David looked sullen, kicking an old plastic bottle around on their way to the car. Rose was about to unlock the doors, when an elderly, distinctly Scottish voice addressed her from behind.

"Ms Henderson?"

David rolled his eyes, drawing the hood of his black jacket over his baseball cap, burying his hands deep in the pockets of his black jeans. Rose turned round. An elderly woman was standing behind her, dressed in a grey mackintosh. Her hair was drawn back in a tight bun and she was wearing square, dark-rimmed spectacles.

Rose looked at her warily. If strangers addressed her, it was often about David's misbehaviour.

"Ms Henderson, I have an important message for you. Can we talk somewhere in private?"

"Well, we have an appointment…"

"You won't need this appointment, Ms Henderson," the old woman stated.

"But it's about my son's school…"

"That's exactly what I would like to talk to you about."

Rose studied the woman through narrowed eyes, then shot a disapproving look at her son, who was making impatient noises. Finally she nodded.

"Very well, let's go back to the flat."

They settled in the living-room over tea and biscuits, the old woman seated in one armchair, Rose in the other and David occupying the sofa opposite.

The visitor took a sip of her tea, cleared her throat and began.

"I'm Professor McGongall, headmistress of Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry.

Ms Henderson, I assume that once you were acquainted with Severus Snape?"

Rose's face became drained of all colour.

"Severus," she whispered, her body rigid, the knuckles of her clenched fists white.

"Mum? Are you alright?" David had given up his pretence of coolness, had stopped slouching on the sofa; sitting up, he touched her arm, looking alarmed.

Rose answered him with an automatic nod and an absent-minded smile.

"Severus," she repeated, leaning closer to the visitor, "tell me…"

"Severus Snape was my predecessor," the woman continued. "When the authorities finally agreed to grant his portrait a place in my office, he asked me…"

"I believed him dead," Rose interrupted, breathing hard, covering her mouth with her hands.

Professor McGonagall inclined her head.

"Yes, Ms Henderson, he's dead, I'm afraid, but his portrait told me…"

"His portrait told you…?"

Rose looked at her in confusion. Professor McGonagall took a deep breath.

"You are familiar with the fact that Severus Snape was a wizard?" she asked kindly.

"That's what he said."

"Portraits of deceased wizards are magical, they can feel and think, move and talk. At Hogwarts school there is a tradition to have portraits of all the former headmasters and headmistresses in the present headmaster's office so that they can provide advice and assistance. Usually headmasters die in office and their portraits are added without delay. In Severus' case things were – somewhat complicated, so it took four years for the portrait to be commissioned and displayed. On his very first day in my office Severus asked me for a confidential conversation and told me about you, asking me to find out if you were alright. I did as he requested, although our laws prevented me from contacting you before David was old enough to attend Hogwarts. But we always kept an eye on you and your son and supplied Severus with information. We would have helped you, but you didn't seem to be in need of assistance."

Rose swallowed hard. Not in need of assistance? Hah! And they had watched her? Who? How? This was preposterous!

"Who is this Severus," David demanded roughly, his face drawn into a confused and angry frown, his eyes darting to and fro between the two women.

"Your father," Rose whispered. The old woman smiled and nodded. The boy gaped at her.

"Your father was a wizard, Mr Henderson, a very talented, powerful and brave wizard. And you have inherited his magic. Therefore you are allowed to attend Hogwarts school, so that your magical power can be refined and schooled."

"I'm - what? A wizard?" David laughed. "You're mental!"

"David!"

The old woman ignored the remark.

"Yes, Mr Henderson, you are a wizard," she confirmed patiently.

This time the boy didn't answer, just looked at her and frowned, thinking hard.

"So I don't have to go to Midway High?"

"No, Mr Henderson."

Rose cleared her throat. "Hogwarts is a private school, Professor… eh…"

"McGonagall."

"Professor McGonagall. I haven't got the money to pay for private education."

"You don't have to pay, Ms Henderson. Young and magically talented wizards like your son usually win a scholarship. You only have to pay for his books and his robes. And Severus managed to make some provisions before he died."

Mother and son exchanged a look, trying to digest the information.

"Is it a boarding school?" David finally asked.

"Yes, of course."

Again Rose and her son looked at each other, not knowing what to make of the offer.

"It would be better than Midway High," Rose said tentatively.

David shrugged. He was not very enthusiastic about schools in general, neither was he sure of what to believe of this wizard business.

"Boarding schools are crap. Only posh kids go there," he muttered.

His mother shot him a disapproving look.

Professor McGonagall pretended not to have heard his remark; she reached into her voluminous handbag and produced a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. She handed it to Rose.

"We had a copy made of Severus' portrait."

Rose accepted the parcel, turning it over with shaking hands before unwrapping it slowly and methodically. Inside was a painting in a plain silver frame. The canvas showed Severus Snape against a backdrop of book-lined walls. He was sitting in a large green armchair, watching her.

"Severus," Rose breathed, holding the painting gingerly in both hands.

The man in the portrait moved, leaning closer towards the viewer, his sad, pale and haggard face undecided whether to attempt a smile or not.

"Rose," he finally said, "I'm so sorry for – for leaving you alone like this."

She felt a shudder going through her body at the sound of his voice. She met his gaze, biting her lower lip, shaking her head slightly, not knowing how to speak to a painting.

"It's ok, I - we have a son, Severus."

The painted man nodded.

"I know." He swallowed hard, unable to express the emotions depicted on his face.

Then, hesitantly, "Can I see him?"

Rose turned the portrait round so that it faced David.

The boy stared at the black-clad man in wonder and awe, raised his hand and touched the canvas with a tentative finger.

"We can't touch each other, David," the portrait said, "we can only see each other and talk to each other. So - hello, my son, how are you?"

"You are – my father? You are – really my Dad?"

The longing in David's voice was almost too hard to bear; with a sob Rose buried her face in her hands.

The portrait nodded. Grabbing the frame with both hands the boy jumped up and ran from the room. His bedroom door banged shut. The two women looked at each other.

"He needs to talk to his father in private," Professor McGonagall said and smiled.

"After all, he's had to wait for eleven years. Now, Ms Henderson, let me tell you more about Hogwarts and the provisions Severus has made for you and your son…"

oooOOOooo

"I have been told that you were the one insisting on Severus' portrait being put up at Hogwarts," Rose said quietly.

Harry answered with a mute shrug, grinning sheepishly.

"Thank you, Mr Potter."

The young man cleared his throat.

"It was only fair. Professor Snape dedicated his life to Dumbledore's plans of saving the wizarding world from Voldemort. He would have deserved ending his life in peace, respected by everybody. His death was so cruel, so meaningless… None of us realized what he had sacrificed until it was too late."

He smiled wryly and shook his head.

" I tried to speak to his portrait when I visited Hogwarts, but he wouldn't answer me. Old enmities are hard to overcome, I suppose. I've always felt guilty about him, so I'm really glad to hear that there was someone he could rely on during that horrible time."

Rose smiled weakly, Harry heaved a deep sigh and changed the subject.

"Your son travelled on the Hogwarts Express. What is he doing at Hogwarts now,

Ms Henderson?"

"He's a teacher, that's what he's always wanted, going back to Hogwarts, which he considered his second home. It's his first year in the job," Rose answered with some pride.

"What does he teach? Potions?"

Rose laughed.

"No, he doesn't. He's always been lousy at Potions, much to his father's chagrin. Didn't have the patience to prepare the ingredients properly and to mix them together in the prescribed way and wait days or even weeks for the desired result. He's always been too hasty. But he's been good with figures and logic, so his area of expertise is a subject called Arithmancy."

Harry answered with an appreciating nod. Rose Henderson war sitting back in her chair, her arms folded in front of her chest, looking suddenly drawn and tired.

"Mr Potter – nobody knows about Severus and me, except Professor McGonagall and now you. I'd like to keep it that way, and Severus, too."

"Yes, of course. Are you going to tell his portrait about our encounter?"

Rose raised her eyebrows enquiringly. "Would you mind if I did?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, that's good, because I don't think I can keep it from him. Although he's only a painting, I sometimes can't help feeling that he is able to read thoughts."

She shrugged and grinned.

Harry chuckled understandingly.

"He was a very talented legilimens or thought reader, as you would say, when he was alive."

"When he was alive…," Rose repeated, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. She blinked and got up resolutely.

"I must go, Mr Potter, thank you for the coffee."

"Thank you for your time and for your story, Ms Henderson. And – say hello to Professor Snape for me, please."

Rose Henderson smiled, inclining her head. Then she turned and walked out of the coffee shop. Harry watched her, a slender figure, looking so much like his own mother, surrounded by an aura of loneliness, going home to a painted lover when she would have deserved a living one…

The End

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these inspiring characters._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Seven: Love Never Fails**

"And so we became lovers," Rose said. "Sometimes he came to my flat right away, sometimes we met somewhere else and went there afterwards. He rarely spent the night, though. Several times he had to leave abruptly, saying that he was 'summoned'.

"And he never told you more about himself?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, he never did. He wanted to forget, that was what he came for. And I never asked.

I can see that this is hard to understand, but we were happy, creating a world of our own, an…"

She stopped, thought for a moment, then continued with a wry smile, "an enchanted island of refuge in the rough sea of everyday life."

Again she paused, lost in memories, longing in her eyes.

"Then I discovered I was pregnant…"

Harry's eyes grew wide with surprise.

"You mean…?"

"David is Severus' son," Rose said calmly and Harry suddenly knew why the young man had seemed familiar: Snape's son! Sweet Merlin!

"Did he know? Snape, I mean?"

"Yes, I told him on his last visit before…"

"How did he react?"

She grimaced.

"Oh, he was shocked, absolutely shocked, just kept staring at me for several endless minutes. Then he became furious, furious with himself, furious with me, accusing me of having lied to him about being on the pill, which wasn't true, by the way. He was pacing the room, cursing and shouting, wouldn't listen to me, there was no way of calming him down. I could only wait for his anger to abate eventually, leaving him numb and exhausted, finally giving me the chance to hold him in my arms and tell him, that although I had no idea how it could have happened I was looking forward to having his child. He didn't respond, only gave me one of his long, hard stares; when he had to leave, however, there was an air of fierce determination about him."

She shrugged. Silence; both of them lost in thought.

"But he died before his son was born," Harry finally ventured.

Rose didn't answer. She was looking at a point above Harry's shoulder, a strange little smile on her lips.

"No, he didn't," a deep voice answered and before Harry could turn his head to look at its owner, a man stepped around the table and sat down in the chair next to Rose. They exchanged a look and a smile. The man was tall and lean, with close-cropped, greying black hair, a sallow face and a large, hooked nose. He was wearing an elegant dark grey business suit with a white shirt and a maroon tie with a fine golden pattern. He regarded Harry with an ironic curl of his lips.

Harry could only stare at this familiar face, completely at a loss and dumbstruck. The face was older, the twenty-one years had made the old lines deeper and had added some new ones, but apart from that it had not changed much, although the patina of time had made the ragged features less ugly; however, the notorious trade-mark expression of perpetual scorn was still firmly in place.

"I saw you die," Harry whispered.

The man shook his head slowly.

"No, Mr Potter. You saw me lose consciousness."

"And how…?"

"You are supposed to be the hero of the wizarding world. Can't you figure it out yourself?" came the sarcastic reply.

The younger shook his head mutely, but his compressed lips revealed his effort of maintaining his self-control.

Severus Snape regarded him with a mocking smile, satisfied with the reaction he had provoked. Rose let out a disapproving breath, which he answered with an apologetic shrug.

"Well, Mr Potter, the answer is immunisation against Nagini's venom and Fawkes. I had taken precautions since Voldemort's return and especially so after I had learned of Rose's pregnancy, when all of a sudden the idea of surviving the final battle became more and more attractive. So the snake's poison couldn't harm me, but without Fawkes I would still have died from blood loss. I didn't know about the phoenix, the appearance of the bird must have been Dumbledore's doing, I assume; anyway, when I woke up he was perched on the back of a chair and the tears he started to shed healed the wound. The bleeding stopped, I managed to grab his tail and with the amazing strength phoenixes can develop in emergency situations, he pulled me from the Shrieking Shack. Outside, when he noticed how weak I was, he offered me a second dose of tears so that I could gather enough strength to apparate."

The words had been spoken in a calm, neutral voice, the speaker giving a report, his face as void of emotions as his voice and his words.

Silence, Harry trying to digest the information.

"I heard a thump at my door and when I went to investigate, there he was, all in a heap on my doorstep," Rose took over, putting an affectionate hand on Snape's arm.

OooOOOooo

She would never forget the feeling of absolute shock when she cautiously opened her door and discovered her lover's semi-conscious, dirt- and blood-encrusted form on her door mat. She dragged him into the hall, hoping that by moving him she would not aggravate his injuries. Then she tried to wake him, to speak to him, to make him react, but only got weak moans for answers until she gave up in despair and muttered something about calling an ambulance and taking him to A&E. All at once his eyes shot open, his cold, claw-like hand fastened around her wrist. There was panic in his eyes, his mouth opened and closed, his breath came in ragged gasps. He was not able to speak coherently, but from the few syllables he uttered it became clear that hospital treatment was the last thing he wanted. Rose was afraid he would have a seizure if she insisted and so she sat down next to him again, trying to calm him, frantically searching for a solution. Her own first aid skills would endanger him rather than help him. He needed medical help, without it he would most probably die, but where could she take him if not to a hospital? Another moan from the injured man and he still kept her wrist in a vice-like grip. Shit! What on earth was she going to do with him?

Then an idea struck her. Her cousin Martin was a medical student, he could be persuaded to give her some advice without asking too many questions.

She priced Severus' fingers open, ignored his weakening sounds of protest and went to phone her cousin at once. He arrived an hour later, cast one glance at the man still sprawled on the floor and absolutely refused to become involved in this affair. He was only in his second year, he didn't have the equipment and the expertise, they couldn't provide the care, and where had the man got these injuries anyway, wasn't this a case for the police?

Rose listened to him, while holding Severus' hand all the time, feeling his pulse, fearing that he would pass away any minute. Scared out of her wits and utterly exhausted she started to cry uncontrollably – and at long last her cousin relented. He promised to help, but refused to take on any responsibility as to the outcome of this dubious business. Rose almost fainted with relief.

Together they carried Severus to the bedroom, got rid of his clothes and cleaned away as much of the blood and dirt as possible. Martin examined the patient thoroughly and diagnosed extreme blood loss, complaining that, as they had no means of giving him the blood transfusion he needed and would have received in hospital and could only wait for nature to take its course, either his body would muster enough resources to recover or the man would die. There was not very much they could do, except hope for the best and pray. So they made him as comfortable as possible, making sure that he was warm, taking turns in watching him and making him swallow small spoonfuls of a self-made electrolytic drink, while he remained more or less unconscious most of the time…

Then, after seven long days of sleep alternating with semi-consciousness, after seven days of watching over him, waiting for signs of life, hoping that what little medical help they could give him would suffice, after seven days of constant fear that he wouldn't survive Rose woke with a start from a nap in the chair by his bedside to find herself looking into black eyes watching her. At first she didn't realize what it meant. She blinked and stared and blinked again and then it dawned on her.

"Severus," she whispered, "oh my God, you're awake."

She sank to her knees next to the bed, taking his hand, covering it with kisses, then she buried her head on his chest, stammering incoherent words of love and relief.

His free hand found her head and gently stroked her hair.

Neither of them heard the front door open. Rose had supplied Martin with a spare key. So it was only when there were footsteps coming into the bedroom and stopping abruptly, when her cousin's shocked voice shouted a curse and the footsteps hurried over to the bed that Rose lifted her head.

"He's better!" she said.

Martin stopped dead, took a closer look at the patient and uttered an exclamation of surprise. Black eyes met his, making him sit down on the bed.

"Hello," he said with a shaking voice, "I'm Martin. Rose called me when she found you. It was a near miss, I can tell you. I thought you wouldn't make it, mate."

Shaking his head and grinning wryly he started another thorough examination, uttering soft noises of satisfaction now and then.

"You know – this is absolutely amazing. You're still weak, of course, and still weeks away from a full recovery, but all you need now is proper care, rest and lots of food and drink."

The black eyes closed for a moment. When they opened again, the patient tried to clear his throat.

"Thank you," he whispered and a single tear was running down his stubbly cheek…

oooOOOooo

Harry Potter was staring into his empty coffee cup. None of them spoke, their silence enveloped them, separating them from the buzz of the busy room.

"You started a completely new life," the younger man finally remarked.

"He had prepared everything beforehand, from the day he had learned that he would have a child. Transferred his money, bought a house, moved his possessions," Rose said.

Harry shook his head in wonder.

"And we never knew, we never even guessed! When your body wasn't found, when your portrait at Hogwarts wouldn't move or speak!"

"I wanted it that way," Snape said quietly, finally looking up and meeting Harry's eyes with a mocking smile.

"After you had seen my memories – and in my weakened state you saw more than I intended you to know, after you announced my carefully hidden secrets to the wizarding world, there was no way for me to continue living among my kind. I had to start a new existence."

Harry winced.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but…"

Snape shrugged.

"It doesn't matter any more."

He sighed.

"Sooner or later it was to be expected that someone would stumble over me. In a way I'm glad it was you, Mr Potter, you know more about me than the others, you can understand my motives, I hope. I feared Minerva and the other older teachers would make the connection when David went to Hogwarts, but he was sorted into Ravenclaw and this must have distracted them from the family resemblance. The boy kept the secret well and today, after twenty-one years, people have lost interest in me, so I'm quite confident that despite this meeting I can spend the rest of my life in peace, away from the wizarding community."

His eyes bored into Harry's. The younger man answered the glance without blinking.

"I won't tell anybody about this encounter, but I would like to meet you again, Sir," he said quietly.

"Whatever for?"

"To talk to you – about yourself, about my mother."

Black eyes were rolling towards the ceiling.

"Is there anything you still don't know?"

"There are lots of things I don't know," Harry answered. "For example, why you are wearing Gryffindor colours."

"What?" Snape looked completely baffled.

"Your tie, Sir."

Snape pulled out his tie and examined it as if seeing it for the first time.

"Gryffindor… Potter, honestly, I didn't realize. Rose bought the tie…"

"I liked the colours and the pattern, I wasn't aware of any symbolic value," Rose added with an amused smile.

"… and I like it as well, so what? I don't give a damn about house colours any longer, Potter."

With an exasperated sigh Snape straightened the tie again.

"Very well, Potter, in case you'll come up with more of these pressing questions…"

"How did you know we were here?" Harry interrupted.

Snape sighed impatiently and produced a slim silver mobile from the pocket of his jacket.

"As simple as that: Ingenious Muggle technology. Rose texted me, told me about your meeting on the platform and asked if I minded her talking to you."

He took out a business card and dropping it on the table, he got up.

"Good-bye, Mr Potter."

"Bye, and thank you for the coffee," Rose said.

They left. Harry watched them wind their way between the tables and chairs, the tall man putting his arm around the woman's shoulders affectionately. He picked up the card.

'Severus Snape, manager,' it said, 'department of research' and the name of a large pharmaceutical firm. He hadn't even bothered to change his name.

Harry stowed the card in his pocket carefully. They would meet again, there were many questions to be asked and answered…

The End

_Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing these inspiring characters_


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